Unchain Me
by TheGrayson
Summary: Yuuri sees another guy proposing to Wolfram. Maybe this was the push he needed. Yuuram, mild yaoi, fluff. Title from A7X's "Afterlife."


**Disclaimer: I do not own Kyou kara Maou! This is a non-profit fanfiction for entertainment only.**

**Prompt: Yuuri sees another guy proposing to Wolfram. Maybe this was the push he needed.**

Yuuri groaned as Wolfram shot a glare at him for what must have been the billionth time that night. Well, to be fair, Yuuri _had_ stepped on Wolfram's toe. Again.

"Tell me again why we have to dance in front of this huge crowd?" Yuuri whispered to the blond, frowning slightly as Wolfram's hand tightened on his shoulder. Ah, that was his cue to turn right. Spinning cautiously, Yuuri directed them to another corner of the dance floor.

"Because as Maou, you're expected to set a good example," Wolfram quietly replied, eyes cast down. He had been blushing for a while now, but Yuuri was mostly sure that was because Yuuri's hand was on his waist, forcing Wolfram to be the "girl" in their duo. "Plus, you have to show people you can dance, or they'll think you're an even bigger wimp than you actually are."

"But I can't dance," Yuuri protested, spinning again when Wolfram's hand gripped his a bit harder. "The only reason I'm not tripping over my feet is because you keep giving me secret signals!"

"Could you say it any louder?" Wolfram grouched, frowning. "And keep up, you're falling behind. If _I_ were leading, we'd have no problems with our tempo."

"Then why don't you?" Yuuri responded sullenly. "Honestly, I don't mind if you do. You're much better at this anyway."

"Because you're the Maou, and as such you're expected to know how to lead," Wolfram shot back. "And as your fiancé, I'm supposed to follow. It's a sacrifice, but all good relationships have them."

And with that, they were off, spinning through the throngs of people on the dance floor, twirling and ducking through the crowd until Yuuri was sure he was either going to faint or throw up. Or maybe die. After what seemed like hours—though it couldn't have been more than three minutes—the song ended, and Yuuri and Wolfram broke apart to the embarrassing sound of applause.

"Oh, my darlings!" Cecilie dashed forward and smothered the two boys into her chest. "You were positively fabulous together! So in love!"

"Mother!" Wolfram chastised, breaking away and scowling. "Leave me and Yuuri alone!"

"Lady Cheri," Conrad suddenly stepped in out of nowhere, smoothing over the pout on Cecilie's face. "Lord von Grantz is requesting your presence in the dining hall, presumably to congratulate you on planning yet another spectacular Autumn Fête."

"Well, naturally," Cecilie glowed under the praise. "If I had left it to Günter or somebody, we would have ended up calling it something utterly crass, like the Fall Ball or something." And with those final words she was off, leaving nothing but empty champagne flutes and the faint smell of orchids behind.

"And Wolfram," Conrad suddenly turned to his younger brother. "Lord von Gyllenhaal is requesting your presence. Again."

"Again?" Wolfram looked ill, suddenly. Yuuri was just confused—who was this von Gyllen-whatever guy? "Tell him I'm in the infirmary or something!" Shooting a terrified look at the people around him, Wolfram suddenly turned and vanished into the crowd, his bright blue formal uniform quickly covered by countless other suits and evening gowns.

"Who's Lord von Gyllenhaal?" Yuuri asked Conrad, who looked faintly amused. "The name sounds kinda familiar, but…"

"He's from one of the Ten Noble Families," Conrad answered, smiling down at the young Maou. "His older brother is the head of the Gyllenhaal family; you've probably seen him once or twice with Gwendal. Manfred is his youngest brother. He's always been a bit… interested in Wolfram."

"Interested," Yuuri repeated, and then his face lit up in understanding. "Oh, you mean, he like-likes Wolfram?"

"One of Wolfram's many suitors from before you came to Shin Makoku," Conrad confirmed, the smile on his face souring just a bit. Yuuri could empathize; he doubted he would have liked it if many guys asked his for _his_ brother's hand in marriage. Wait…

"Wolfram had suitors?" Yuuri's squawk was just a shade too soft to be heard by the milling party guests.

"Of course," Conrad replied, smile gone. "Although since he was quite young, no more than sixty or seventy, none of them ever did much—there were a few that proposed, but Wolfram turned them all down."

"They proposed to him? And hey, if he refused then, how come he couldn't refuse when I proposed?" Yuuri parroted again, wishing he could say something other than the obvious.

Conrad outright frowned. "There were seven occasions, I believe. Lord von Gyllenhaal, particularly, has been rather persistent, but he has backed off after the news of yours and Wolfram's engagement became public. Also, Wolfram was still a prince at that time, but as Maou, you outrank him, and according to Mazoku aristocratic tradition, one can't refuse a proposal from somebody of a higher rank if it will benefit the family. It mostly accommodates political marriages, but it applied to your proposal too. Also, you did beat him in your duel."

"Oh, not you too," Yuuri moaned, and then elaborated when Conrad shot him a questioning look. "All you guys are taking the fiancé stuff pretty far."

"Well, of course," Conrad replied, grinning suddenly. "After all, yours was the only proposal that Wolfram ever accepted."

It was much later into the night when Yuuri finally found Wolfram again.

Unfortunately, he wasn't alone.

"Yuuri Heika," Wolfram gritted out, shooting a despairing look at the man currently wrapped around him, whispering into his ear. "May I introduce Lord Manfred von Gyllenhaal."

Manfred von Gyllenhaal was a heavyset man, easily as well-built as Yozak or Gwendal, and even taller. He had thick, wavy, dark-blonde hair and a beard to match, and his robes were decked and dripping with pearls and gemstones. Yuuri could easily see the resemblance to his longer-haired older brother. The aristocrat's arm lay curled around Wolfram's shoulder, pressing the small boy's head into his chest and his side into his hip.

Wolfram looked like he would vomit any moment.

"A pleasure, my Heika," the man said, leering down at Yuuri with a rather unpleasant sort of smile stretching across his mouth. Yuuri secretly thought that his eyes looked dead in his face.

"It's good to meet you," Yuuri lied, catching the way Wolfram shied away from the man only to be pulled back to his side.

"I heard about your engagement to Wolfram here," von Gyllenhaal patted the top of Wolfram's head like he was a pet; his large hand flattened the curls. "Such a shame. He is such a pretty one."

"Well," Yuuri could feel the Maou inside him shifting, "if you'll excuse us, my fiancé and I should really be getting to the dining hall; I heard Lord von Voltaire was requesting us." It was a lie; Gwendal barely spoke at all during these soiree events, but some lies were necessary.

"Pardon me," Wolfram bit out, not even bothering to disguise the menace in his voice before slipping his arm into Yuuri's and dashing away.

"Thanks," Wolfram muttered, head ducked down. "Did Conrart tell you to come save me?"

"No," Yuuri replied. "I was just looking for you—plus, you looked kinda seasick standing with him. What was he saying, anyway?"

Wolfram snorted. "That my eyes shone brighter than the emeralds hand-stitched into his fur mantle. He's really quite modest."

"Hmm," Yuuri mumbled, not really willing to say any more. Once they were a safe distance away from Manfred, he dropped his arm. "I have to go find Murata—make sure he's not secretly telling girls that I have a birthmark on my butt or something."

"Alright," Wolfram sniffed. "If you need me to rescue your wimpy self, I'll be with my elite guard."

And then, for the second time that night, Yuuri lost sight of Wolfram.

It was either very late at night or very early in the morning, Yuuri decided. One, he had never been this tired in his life—not even when he ate forty spoonfuls of caffeine powder on a bet and ended up crashing during his geometry exam and then been sent immediately to the hospital. And two, since he was the Maou and all, people kept coming up to him and telling him he looked good, or asking for a dance, or wondering if he could help facilitate peace between two distant countries.

Exhausted didn't even begin to describe how he was feeling.

"Do these parties always last this long?" Yuuri turned to his godfather, muffling a yawn behind his hand.

"Yes," Conrad admitted, smiling gently. "Although this is nothing compared to the party Hahaue throws on the Winter Solstice—that being the longest night of the year and all. We normally don't sleep at all then."

"Don't even remind me about sleep," Yuuri grumbled, swiping his large, decorative sleeve across his face. "Günter has me scheduled for a lesson tomorrow morning, but I'm pretty sure that tomorrow is today and yesterday was two days ago." Yuuri blinked. "Did that make any sense?"

"A bit," Conrad agreed, laughing a little.

And that was when the room suddenly quieted.

Yuuri looked around frantically, wondering why everybody had stopped talking—highly unusual behavior among aristocrats.

"Is it something I said?" Yuuri whispered furtively to Conrad, frowning a bit. Yeah, he was sleep-deprived and tired, but he had been pretty good at sounding eloquent so far.

"No, I think it's—oh," Conrad suddenly grimaced, and Yuuri followed his line of vision to see what everybody was looking at.

It was Wolfram, standing in the middle of the room.

And right next to Manfred von Gyllenhaal.

Yuuri could only watch in growing horror as Lord von Gyllenhaal suddenly turned to Wolfram, smiling ferally, and raised his right hand.

It swung down as if in slow motion, and as Yuuri stared helplessly at Wolfram, he thought he could see a spark of cold realization in his emerald eyes.

The slap was too loud; it echoed in the sudden silence of the ballroom, causing every face in the hall to turn and stare at the scene that was unfolding. Wolfram stumbled, falling to one knee with the force of the attack (because that's all the slap could be, really). His right hand clenched into a tight fist and wiped a dribble of blood from his now-split lip as his other hand gingerly touched his rapidly swelling left cheek.

The whispers started almost immediately.

Yuuri could only watch in some sort of blinded haze as Conrad rushed to Wolfram, helping his not-so-baby brother stand up. Gwendal, still at Yuuri's side, scowled deeply, his glare centered on the smug Lord von Gyllenhaal.

Yuuri, however could only see the slap, replayed over and over again in his mind. Gyllenhaal, his lips stretching into a leer. Wolfram, eyes stretching wide in painful resignation. Conrad, running towards his brother, arms stretched out as Wolfram fought not to fall.

There was no need to strike Wolfram so violently, Yuuri concluded hotly, fuming. It was obvious that Gyllenhaal wanted to make sure everybody saw. A public event. A challenge to Wolfram's honor and Yuuri's bravery.

Well, Yuuri never was one to back down from a challenge—except for all the times when—er, well, whatever.

Fisting the cuff of his left sleeve in his hand, the young Maou prepared to angrily storm up to the smirking Lord and rain down a furious storm of Justice on his sorry silk-clad behind. Or something of that nature.

"Yuuri," It was Gwendal's voice that stopped him. The older Mazoku laid a hand on Yuuri's shoulder, confident that Conrad would stall long enough to give him a few minutes. "This is your chance."

"My chance to what?" Yuuri snapped, still angry. Why wasn't Gwendal letting him go? That was his _little brother_ that just got assaulted!

"To end your betrothal to Wolfram."

Whatever Yuuri had been expecting Gwendal to say, _that_ was certainly not it. He turned to Gwendal incredulously, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline.

"Before you do something rash," Gwendal continued, "realize that if you do nothing at all, then Wolfram's engagement to you will be officially annulled. You won't even have to make a statement."

"But—but then Wolfram would be engaged to Lord von Gyllenhaal, right?"

Gwendal nodded.

"Why—why can't he just say no?" Yuuri stammered, grasping for straws. Yes, he understood why Wolfram had been forced into the engagement with him—after all, he was the Maou, and he had beaten Wolfram in their duel.

"Lord von Gyllenhaal outranks him—he's next in line for the Gyllenhaal seat. Wolfram is obligated to marry him, especially since this would help strengthen ties between two strong territories." Gwendal looked darkly over at his two brothers. Conrad had managed to engage Lord von Gyllenhaal in what looked to be friendly (or at least civil) conversation; Wolfram was just standing at his side, looking at his feet, still shell-shocked.

"Think carefully, Heika," Gwendal advised, looking pained. "If you truly do not love my brother, then maybe this arrangement would be for the best."

Yuuri thought about it.

Life without Wolfram? There would be no Wolfram to call him a cheater, or a wimp, or a liar. No Wolfram to yell and rage when something didn't go his way. No Wolfram to physically remove any women from Yuuri's side. No Wolfram to secretly scold the kitchen staff when they prepared a dish Yuuri disliked. No Wolfram to go on picnics with him and Greta in the rose gardens. No Wolfram to greet him at night, curled up in their bed in his pink nightgown. No Wolfram to hug him—and then yell at him—once they narrowly escaped a life-threatening ordeal.

Holy shi—Shinou. He was in love with Wolfram. Or, well, at least _like-liked _him.

"I've thought about it," Yuuri growled roughly to Gwendal, and then stalked off. In his mind, he liked to think that he saw a glint of approval in Gwendal's eyes.

"Lord von Gyllenhaal," Yuuri called out, striding up to the middle of the ballroom. Immediately, all the talking—when had the whispers progressed to mind-numbing decibels?—hushed again. All eyes were on the Maou. "I know I haven't been here long, but I know that it's highly unusual to propose to another man's fiancé."

"It is, yes," Gyllenhaal smiled graciously. "And I would not have done so if it weren't for the fact that you and Wolfram are barely engaged, as it is. Oh yes," he continued, enjoying the looks of shock on Yuuri's face. "I've heard all about your 'accidental' proposal. Isn't it you, Maou Heika, who's always insisting that? I see no problem in correcting a mistake, and after all, Wolfram is far too pretty to be left unclaimed where some man of _lesser degree_ might take an unhealthy interest in him."

"I think one already has," Yuuri shot back, relishing the gasps of shock. Oh yeah, he could make a good comeback. The pleased smile on Conrad's face also helped. "Besides, who said that I take this engagement as a joke? I treasure my engagement with Wolfram, and," conveniently, there was a table filled with empty plates and utensils just to his right, "I fully intend to fight for him."

With one grand flourish (that luckily turned out to be as grand as he envisioned it) Yuuri yanked the tablecloth out from underneath the stacked cutlery, sending a mess of plates, sporks and knives tumbling to the ground.

Some feet away, he could hear Günter crying out, "Heika!"

"Lord Gyllenhaal, I formally challenge you to a duel for Wolfram's hand."

Utter silence. Yuuri could feel the stares of everybody in the room on him, but there was only one he really cared about. Turning slightly, Yuuri tore his gaze away from Lord von Gyllenhaal and looked straight at Wolfram, who looked like he had stopped breathing altogether.

Aw, Yuuri hadn't intended on that happening. He'd like his fiancé alive, thank you very much.

Lord von Gyllenhaal eyed the knives on the ground, and for one moment, Yuuri prepared himself to fight another duel. It was okay; Wolfram was worth it.

But then Gyllenhaal ducked his head and turned away, eyes narrowing. "I concede."

And then Yuuri didn't know what was happening any more, only that the ceiling was spinning and he was laughing but it was all okay, because somehow Wolfram was in his arms and the world was right again.

"Yuuri," Wolfram finally spoke up, blushing furiously. There, Yuuri thought, under the bright chandeliers with his face stained red and his cheek swollen and bruised, Wolfram had never looked more beautiful. "You didn't have to do that, you wimp."

Oh God. That was it. That was the last straw. Leaning in, Yuuri firmly planted his mouth against Wolfram's.

Okay, yeah. It was a pretty bad first kiss, since Yuuri had never been one for gracefulness and their noses bumped and Yuuri's hands were fumbling around Wolfram's face and he winced as he could hear Wolfram hiss in pain after one of his fingers accidently poked Wolfram in his sore cheek.

But then Wolfram leaned into his embrace and Yuuri could feel long-fingered hands clutching at his back and yeah, there had never been a better kiss in the history of all mouth-to-mouth action.

They broke apart to the sound of people clapping, and Wolfram's blush seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face. Yuuri didn't mind—after all, Wolfram looked good in pink.

"I think I did," Yuuri said, responding to Wolfram's earlier statement. Wolfram smiled at him again—shy, flushed, _happy_.

Alright. So maybe the whole engaged-at-15 thing wasn't as bad as he thought.

**Word count: 2941**

**Whew, that was refreshing. Finally decided to get off my lazy ass and write some KKM stuff. Which turned out to be yaoi/slash. Because, well… you know. Also, Yuuram is an OTP for life. Don't mess with it. This is for my friend Sim. **

**Reviews, questions or concrit are all appreciated.**


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